


Stolen Moments (that leave too quickly)

by Anonymous



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, F/M, Forbidden Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22286659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There's something exciting about sneaking around with the enemy, especially when they don't feel like an enemy.Or, a war AU set in an ambiguous time period in which the North has just surrendered to the Westerland Forces and is now subject to occupation by a Westerling regiment. Sansa and Sandor forget that they're supposed to be enemies.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22
Collections: Anonymous





	Stolen Moments (that leave too quickly)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by suite francaise
> 
> title taken from tristan + isolde
> 
> very quickly proofread by myself so if i missed anything let me know!

The enemy came just a few days after the last of the inhabitants of Wintertown would have returned for the late seasons if there wasn’t a war tearing the continent apart. The size of the regiment that stomped its way through the town and past the walls of Winterfell was so immense that the sound of the horse hooves carrying the knights and pulling the large covered wagons that carried their supplies and the men who marched on foot were heard long before they even reached the city. For the briefest moment, the townspeople felt some amusement in seeing how ill-prepared these soldiers were for the climate of the North. Undeniably Westerlings, they were accustomed to sweltering heat and salty breezes from the sea and had likely never seen snow before. They were bundled up under layers upon layers of fur and thick blankets made of wool wrapped tightly around their bodies. All of the men on foot wore mittens to protect their fingers from the biting cold, but they were far too thick to be practical, preventing them from fully closing their fists or grasping anything. Because they needed to hold on to the reins, the soldiers on horseback couldn’t wear the mittens, so their blankets were pinned in place around their necks to allow them to keep their hands covered while maintaining a proper grip on the reins. Every one of them had full beards, varying in length and thickness, which were frozen with chunks of ice that had formed from the moisture of their breath and the snow that had fallen and stuck to the hair. Their noses were various shades of red and purple, some of them clearly frostbitten.

What little amusement the locals felt at the sight of these men was fleeting, however, as their arrival signified only one thing: the fall of the North. The war between the Seven Kingdoms was nearing its tenth year, slowly turning the entire continent of Westeros into one giant wasteland of battlefields and destroyed towns and villages. The estimated death toll had long since surpassed five hundred thousand. The laws forbidding women from fighting were the same across all the kingdoms, leading to a steady increase in widows and mourning mothers. The ratio of men to women was overwhelmingly disproportionate, with entire villages and towns scattered throughout the land now composed mostly of women and children with the exception of the elderly grandfathers and great-grandfathers who were simply too old and feeble to fight and the sons who were too young.

The North, and especially Wintertown, seemed to have been hit harder than others in this regard, though not nearly as bad as some of the smaller villages near the southern coast. There was still some men in the North, although they were the old, the deformed, sickly, maimed and disfigured, disabled—all of whom were unable to fight and therefore deemed useless to the cause. Some of the wealthier men had been able to pay their way out of the draft, while others who were in positions of political power were exempt from it by default in order to preserve royal lines.

The threat of occupation had been looming over the North since the surrender, stirring up intense fear among the people. There had been rumors traveling throughout the continent about how regiments from the Westerlands took advantage of the lack of men in conquered towns and cities. With so few men left behind who could get in their way, women in these areas were easy targets. One especially persistent rumor was that the men from one regiment were exceptionally talented at manipulation, capable of sweet talking and feigning patience and kindness and respectfulness until a lady fell into their trap, and then she would be swept up and carried off into the night, never to be seen or heard from again.

It was thought by some that these rumors were merely bogeyman tales crafted by the Westerlings themselves to scare the people they were trying to conquer; a sort of psychological warfare to add on to the increasingly violent physical warfare that they were notorious for employing. Other villages had fallen victim to their tactic of lulling the inhabitants into a false sense of safety: a village would surrender, and the Westerland forces would stay away for a few weeks, occasionally a few months, until the people would think to themselves, “If they aren’t here now, they aren’t going to show up at all.” Just when they would begin to feel comfortable again, to feel as though they could adapt to their new _normal_ as a conquered people, a regiment would be sent out to occupy the town without warning, invading the fields, markets, and even the citizens’ homes. The idea was to catch them off guard, and in some ways it was an attempt to dissuade other kingdoms and militias from surrendering: the violence and bloodshed had gone on for so long that it seemed as though the Westerlands, and in particular the armies controlled by House Lannister, were obsessed with it, desperate to reach new levels of depravity; each battle had become increasingly violent, with tales of torture and mutilation haunting the nightmares of those left behind at home.

Ned Stark was aware of these tales and rumors, and while he felt there was some truth to some of the claims, in particular the ones of extreme violence on the battlefield, he still chose to believe that most of the rumors regarding the actions of the occupying regiments were just made up stories meant to scare women and girls into being extra cautious to protect themselves from being _defiled_ by the enemy. Even if he had believed there was some truth to the claims, he would have had to ignore it: it was largely his doing that the North had fallen into the hands of the Lannister’s army.

Their ideas of peace talk had clashed with Ned’s, and once they turned their brutal warfare tactics on the Northern army, he began to crumble to their demands. When two regiments were dispatched to specifically target the Northern regiments that Ned’s sons fought in, he finally agreed to surrender Wintertown and the castle. His fear for Robb and Jon’s safety was the major factor behind the decision, but there were several others as well: the images of mourning mothers and wives he was forced to see day in and day out, some of whom had even come to him and personally pleaded with him to put an end to what they called senseless murder, had been too much for him to bear any longer.

He believed his decision would be met with widespread, ideally unanimous support, but it polarized the city instead. Some were supportive, eager to prevent further losses for Wintertown, while others were outraged, believing that surrendering made the sacrifices of their men futile.

Now that the enemy was there, marching their way through the town and towards the gates to Winterfell, their intentions clear to a man who had lived as long as Ned and studied warfare as much as he, the head of House Stark was beginning to think that perhaps his townsfolk were right. Had he really prevented more deaths of Northern men? Or did he simply make a mockery of those who had already fallen? They gave their lives in an effort to keep the North free from the reign of tyrants, and now a man who had never stepped foot on any of the battlefields nor seen firsthand the agony and horror that his soldiers suffered, submitted to the enemy—the very enemy that had tortured them and taken their lives. And what about his sons? The Starks hadn’t received any letters from either of them, nor was there word from anyone else who may have seen them. How would this surrender impact them?

He regretted his decision, desperately wanted nothing more than to take it back, to keep fighting and, more importantly, join in the fight himself, but there was nothing he could do now. As he watched the seemingly never-ending flow of knights make their way towards Winterfell, he felt a heavy sinking feeling in his gut. Despite the weather being unusually warm for the season, warm enough for the townspeople to get away with wearing thinner coats as opposed to the heavy, bulky furs that were necessary at the height of the winter season, Ned felt chilled to the bone. He repeatedly clenched his jaw, swallowing despite his mouth being dry, and the clicking sound that his throat made was loud enough to catch his wife Catelyn’s attention.

“As long as we stay on their good side everything will be okay,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand reassuringly. The uncertainty in her voice betrayed her, but Ned chose to ignore it, instead looking at his wife and returning her nervous smile.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said softly before bringing his gaze back to the Westerling army.

By now they had reached the castle wall. The Starks deliberately chose to await their arrival on the balcony of one of the towers in an act of insolence: they wanted to inconvenience these men and standing in the tower meant that the Westerlings would either be forced to shout up at them from the ground or send their commander up the stairs to speak directly with Ned. There was also the fact that the knights would be forced to remain out in the cold until the conversation between the Lord and Lady of Winterfell and the commander of the regiment concluded.

Ned was not surprised when the commander chose to climb the stairs of the tower to speak with him directly. He wondered if this man was under the impression that the tower would be warmer, insulated from the cold and heated by the legendary hot spring that existed beneath the castle, and he took great pleasure in knowing that the two towers on either side of the gate received the least amount of natural heat and required additional fires to warm them. These fires would normally be large and roaring but earlier that morning he had allowed Catelyn to order that the fire be much more subdued: a further act of insolence towards the enemy.

The man introduced himself as Commander Thomas. “I’m only giving you my name as it is the barest courtesy,” this Thomas said. “You won’t be using it, least of all when you address me directly. ‘Commander’ is what you will be calling me so long as we are here.”

He waited for Ned to respond. He maintained eye contact with the conquered Lord, unwavering and confident, almost arrogant. There were no illusions of friendliness from the Westerling: the man stood with perfect posture and his jaw set, head tilted back as though he were simply trying to keep the brim of his cap out of his line of sight, but it was clear in the way he stared at Ned that he was actually doing so in order to look down him despite the two men being the same height. There was no respect between them; two enemies staring each other down.

Ned remained silent, so Thomas continued, this time with a tone even more clipped than before. “My regiment has been dispatched from Lannisport on the orders of the Lady of Casterly Rock. Because you have surrendered to the Westerland Forces, you are now subject to occupation by the Westerling armies. I’m assuming you received notice that we would be arriving today?”

“Yes.”

“I shall also assume that you are aware we will be requiring beds to sleep in, warm homes to get away from the cold, and hot meals to eat. A letter should have been sent out to each home in the village informing them of these arrangements and that they will last for the duration of our stay here. You should have received a letter informing you that a large portion of the regiment will be staying here, in Winterfell.”

Catelyn inhaled sharply. She didn’t know if such a letter existed; if it did, she hadn’t seen it. “This is our home,” she said quietly, taking care not to sound outraged or even the slightest bit frustrated. “Where will we stay?”

The commander finally broke eye contact with Ned to look at Catelyn, feigning a polite smile and a friendly tone of voice. “You can stay here,” he said. “We’re not evicting you from your home. We’ll just require more of it than you. Once my men have taken a look around and assessed what we have to work with here, you will be notified of which section you will be permitted to stay in.”

Ned took slow, even breaths to remain calm and collected. “Of course,” he said, mocking Thomas’s tone. “When were you planning on doing this?”

“As soon as possible. Now, preferably, actually. My men need to get out of this cold.”

It was with an immense amount of self-restraint that Ned acquiesced without comment, giving the Westerlings permission to look around the castle. The commander left quickly, and the Starks could faintly hear him give the orders to his men to begin scoping out the rooms and quarters. Ned and Catelyn stayed in the tower, preferring to not have to watch as the enemy searching their residence, their home, all to determine which section they would now be permitted to live in.

They weren’t sure how they were going to manage the changes that were about to happen. They’d never been in a position like this before: both came from wealthy noble families, grew up on grand estates, and they’d happily taken advantage of their social class to live comfortably with their luxuries. The idea of being delegated to a small portion of their home, helpless to do anything while the enemy slept in their beds, ate at their tables, lounged in their studies – it was overwhelming. Frightening. Neither of them wanted to even begin to think about how their children were going to handle it.

Hands clasped together tightly, husband and wife, Lord and Lady stood so close to each other that their shoulders touched. The fire was fed so that it heated the tower properly now that the commander was gone. There were loud noises from outside, the soldiers shouting orders to each other, some tossing out jokes; there was some laughter, but the loudest noises were the stomping of boots, the banging of doors that were being carelessly yanked open and allowed to slam against the walls or catching on hinges. The occupation had officially begun.


End file.
